In My Dreams
by DarkEclipse45
Summary: Twenty men came for him that day ten years ago: twenty highly trained killers. Greil barely broke a sweat cutting them down. But what bothers him the most is how it should have been and even after so much time, the dreams and memories haunt him still.


_**In My Dreams**_

In my dreams, I always do it right.

In my dreams, there's only me standing in the middle of the road, the enormous and gleaming sword Ettard held tightly in my right hand, surrounded by nearly two dozen Daein soldiers. In my sight: three snipers hidden amongst trees and houses, two to my right and one not even a dozen feet in front of me. Within the reach of my blade: two soldiers I had once called friends, men I had shed blood alongside so many years ago.

And General Gawain.

No. Not _General Gawain_. I had left that name, and its legacy, behind long ago. It was not truly gone, only lost. There was only Greil.

I may never get used to calling myself that. Even in my dreams.

The Daein assassins, my friends and some of the only remaining people outside the Daein hierarchy who recognize me by face, bristle with weapons: swords, lances, axes, bows, knives hidden under their armor. They are the deadliest men on Tellius because I made them so. Each one of them is more than a match for me alone. I know it; they know it.

Nearby, my only edge: the bronze medallion that pulses with pure chaos. It is there, calling my name.

But I do it _right_.

As a warrior and unrivaled general, I never thought myself to have weaknesses, limitations, shatterpoints. In my arrogance, I never cared for them. I was invincible.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

Love was my weakness.

In my dreams, I refuse to take the medallion and give sway to its power. I am not weak and desperate. I do things the way they should have been done: I cut these men down before they get a chance to attack me or do harm to my family. I don't stop until every single one of them is dead by my hand, though I emerge bloodied, bruised and very near death. But I survive nonetheless, my mind and soul in better condition than my body. It is all a small price to pay compared to what could have happened. My wife is safe; my children are safe. My physical health matters little.

I _could _have done things differently.

I _should_ have done things differently.

If I had, she would still be alive.

But why had I taken the medallion, that accursed hunk of bronze? For what reasons did I deem it necessary to use it the face of such a terrible onslaught? I knew of its power and yet I took it anyway. Was it out of desperation to save myself and prove to those foolish men that I was still who they thought I was? Or was it out of love: love for her, for my children, that I only sought to protect them from further harm that would come to them if I failed? No, it _had_ to have been love. Love was something I had never known before, a power that I could not truly comprehend and a feeling that propelled me more than the lust for battle ever could.

And yet it is because of my love that she lies dead.

But if not for her love, I would not be alive today.

I am a warrior, a former general, a pillar of strength so many still revere me for, even in exile. So unparalleled was my tactical knowledge and experience that I was often summoned by the Daein king to advise _him_ on certain countermeasures required to hold the defensive line with Begnion. Knowing this, making a better choice would have been simple. _Too_ simple.

And yet I still chose the easy path, the darker path.

I could have turned them aside without the power of the medallion. I _know _I could have. I do not dream of the horrors of that day, for in my dreams I always do it right, but I think about almost every waking moment of every day. Every time I jolt awake from the dreams, I am first reminded why she is no longer there. Her warm touch is absent; her soothing and melodic voice is but a hollow and empty timbre in my mind. I cannot help but see her in everything around me, most of all in my daughter, who is so very much like her.

I could have told her to flee with the children while I held the soldiers off. But I chose to act out of love and desperation, and fear as well, for I could not imagine them escaping and dying at the hands of my former comrades because I was too weak to save them.

So I touched the medallion and was lost.

I don't believe I'll ever forget what it felt like, to be overwhelmed by such chaos and power, a feeling unlike any other that I had ever experienced. The memories are as clear as though they happened yesterday and not over a decade ago. So drunk it makes me that I forget where I am, why I am even there in the first place, who the men around me are. They come at me all at once: swords and axes rise and fall to hack off my limbs; lances seek to impale my chest; poison-tipped arrows aim to find my throat.

But none of it matters. Under the sway of the medallion clasped in my left hand, not even three times their numbers could have stopped me. It takes me only a few minutes to slay them all and the sight of their broken and mangled corpses gives fuel to my hunger.

_Power!_ A voice in my head screams, a voice I do not recognize. _Yes! More power!_

I forget about her. I forget about love, the reason I am doing this. I can't even remember my own name.

So it doesn't stop with the soldiers. As soon as I cut them down as effortlessly as a farmer would cut his crops, I turn to the others; ones I had called friends since leaving Daein, people who had promised to conceal my true identity. Fleeing in all directions, women and children scream in horror as my bloodied blade finds their throats. Foolish men try in vain to restrain me and they too fall to the scything arcs of my blade.

I should feel horrible in the face of such a slaughter: a small part of my remaining consciousness tries to tell me to stop. Instead I cackle with maniacal laughter. The power has made me drunk with rage and an insatiable bloodlust. I slaughter the rest around me before bounding up the steps leading to the main part of the town and the crowds still gathered there. They don't bother to run from me and instead they cower in fear as I raise my sword.

And then, just as quickly as it had begun, it is all over.

I hear a woman scream, a terrified and painful wailing, as I turn my blade against the last person I expected to see there.

Elena rushes towards me and she doesn't stop as my blade slides into her body, piercing through her soft breast. Her beautiful face contorts with pain and anguish. The softness in her eyes fades as my gaze finds her face as her head falls against my chest. The red haze in my eyes vanishes and my sanity returns as I realize that she has taken the medallion from my hand.

She smiles. As long as I live, I will never forget that smile, her last one. She forgives me before mouthing the words, "I love you" and closing her eyes. I can feel her heart stop beating against my own.

Her blood-soaked body falls away from me and I slowly start to fall into nothingness. _What have I done? _I desperately wish I hadn't begun to regain my sanity at all; then I wouldn't have to bear this pain. Her blood covers my hands and acts like a poison, driving me to scream in agony at the unforgivable crime I have committed.

There is a man calling my name, whose voice I recognize all too well. It is another man from my past, the only one I ever personally trained in the Daein army. He was always undeniably stronger than the rest, so much quicker and more powerful. Has he come to kill me as well? I am surprised to find that I no longer care as I fall into blackness.

When I awake, I realize the true horror of what I have done. The only thing that keeps me from falling into complete despair is the fact that my children still live and that they were not slaughtered by their father's murderous blade. But even still, she is no longer there.

Before, the most beautiful woman in the world who loved me with all her heart.

Now: only dead.

There is no such thing as a second chance.

I wish the dark god had taken my soul then and there.

Some days after the slaughter, shortly before I left Gallia for Crimea, King Caineghis found me, alone and stricken with grief and abhorrence of myself. My closest friend, the one who was always on my side. "She loved you, my friend," he said, his voice absent of any anger or condemnation, only soft and full of sadness. "If not for her love, you and your children would not be here today."

Even now, I see that his words are uplifting and ring of truth, but still I cannot find it in my heart to forgive myself. The memories make me shudder in revulsion of myself, causing unwanted tears to come to my eyes. I wipe them away: Elena would want to continue on strongly.

And so, I touched the medallion. And so, my wife lies dead. And so, the lives of me and my children will never be whole again. I feel strong now, yet only because I know she loved me more than I would ever know.

But I can never go back.

Odd: killer I am, but I loathe myself for have taken a life.

But why _her_? Even in our love, _she_ didn't deserve to die for _me_.

On occasion I still see some of the men and women who survived the massacre. I can't ever forget their faces; they are forever burned into my memory. Many of my mercenary jobs involve them in one way or another. Each time they divert their eyes away and pretend that they never saw me, that I don't even exist. I cannot blame them for doing so, but it pains me still. I think of the nightmares they must have, the horrors from that day they are forced to relive each night in their slumber. They do not need to say anything for me to know: I can see it in their eyes. A man's face often tells more than words ever would. Ironically enough, I may be the only one from that day who does not have nightmares.

Because in _my_ dreams, I always do it _right_.

My nightmare is what I find when I wake up.

I will never raise my sword again.

* * *

><p><strong>Ending Note:<strong> Something I've put together over the past week while working sporadically on Dark Destiny (Noting that, the next chapter will be up by the end of October). Once again, I've decided to try another type of story here, first person of all things. Another monologue of sorts, this time about Greil. And I can't take all of the credit for this: a college friend of mine suggested the scenario to me and fed me some lines I could use as a basis (He's a big time lurker and I need to talk him into getting an account and writing some stuff here). Don't know how or where he came up with it, but it sounded good to me. I just came up with the Greil idea and strung it together. Hope I did fairly well with it, since I don't normally write one shots, though I like to try my hand at them every so often. Thanks for reading!


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